The Twelve Years of Frank Zhang
by chessboards
Summary: Challenge/story prompt: Frank never considered himself a true Chinese, but when it comes to celebrating Chinese New Years... Write twelve drabbles on the Zhang family and their ways to celebrate their traditions when the Chinese New Year comes around. Written for the FanFiction ImagiNation instant challenge number one, each chapter as a Chinese zodiac.
1. Rat

**Written for the FanFiction ImagiNation Chinese New Year instant challenge, the Twelve Years of Frank Zhang. Dedicated to everyone on that forum plus everyone who's birthdays I've missed and didn't write a present for. Word count: 1,025.  
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Rat:

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"He screams so loudly," said the woman holding a blue bundle in her arms. Her voice showed her fondness for her son, the small baby wrapped in a bundle of blankets. His eyes were not yet open, and a small tuft of hair protruded from his scalp. Opening his mouth as wide as he could, the baby wailed.

"Sh…sh…" soothed the mother, rocking her son back and forth in her arms.

A fire crackled merrily in the fireplace, eating away at the twigs that lay smothering in the hearth, filling the room with warmth and light. Settling herself on a couch not far away from the fire, the woman continued to rock her child until his eyes grew weary and closed, falling into a blissful and heavy slumber.

"Have you decided what to name him yet?" asked an older woman sitting on the opposite end of the couch, eyeing her daughter as she rocked her son.

"No."

The other pursed her lips, but amusement danced in her dark eyes. "Emily, you were never good with names, were you?"

"No, mother."

"I suggest Ping. It's a common and good name, traditional and nice."

Emily wrinkled her nose in an extremely childlike manner. "And what will the other kids at school say to that? For the last time, mother, he is Canadian, and we are not in China. I would like an English name."

The other opened her mouth to argue, but she was interrupted by a sudden appearance of another by the fireplace, a woman with elegant features and a proud yet stern look. A raven-black bun was set high on her head, and she wore silk dress the color of the sky along with the air of haughtiness.

"Lady Juno," whispered Emily, her voice low and respectful.

Juno gave a faint smile towards the newborn baby and spoke in a melodic voice, "He will close the circle. He will return your family to its roots and bring you great honor. He will go to camp and restore your reputation there. He will free Thanatos from his icy chains." After a short pause, she continued in the same tone, "The blood of Pylos is strong in this child from his mother's side. He will have the Zhang family gift, but he will also have powers of his father."

The newcomer turned as if to leave, but stopped abruptly, as if she had forgotten something. She pointed a bony finger at the fireplace before continuing her speech, "No power comes without a price. He will be the strongest of your clan and the greatest. But the Fates have decreed that he will also be the most vulnerable. His life will burn bright and short. As soon as that piece of tinder is consumed–that stick at the edge of the fire–your son is destined to die."

With a flash, she disappeared, as quickly as suddenly as she had come.

Quickly, Emily Zhang sprang to the fireplace and pulled out the burning twig, blackened and smudged with soot. Her mother wrinkled her nose as ash fell on the clean carpet, but even she had to admit the carpet was the least of her concerns.

"What should I do, mother?" whispered Emily, like a frightened child. "I can't keep this the way it is, can I? I have to keep it safe, store it in a bank, put a plastic coating on it, throw it into the sea, do something."

Emily stood up, dusting herself off, the light of desperation in her eyes.

The other looked at her coolly before responding, "Buildings can burn down, banks can be robbed, animals and sharks can break the wood, and if we put a plastic coating over it, how do we know your child will be safe as well? Would he suffocate? It's too much of a risk. The best thing to do is keep it, the way it is."

The young woman moaned with despair, kneeling on the carpet. "But I can't stand not being able to do anything."

"Guard it then. Guard it with your life. That is the most we can do, to be frank."

Emily looked up at her mother, as if lost in thought.

"Frank…" she muttered to herself, musing on the last word her mother said. "Frank…"

The older looked down at her daughter. "What did you say, Emily?"

Emily straightened, dusting herself off for the second time. "Frank. That's it. I will name him Frank. _Fai _in Chinese if you insist on translating it."

Her mother looked exasperated and puzzled at the same time. "Why–"

"Because frankly," Emily cut her off. "There is only so much I can do for him. He has to learn how to keep the twig safe for himself, learn whom he can trust and whom he cannot. He has to learn how to protect himself, and I cannot do that for him."

Frank's grandmother remained silent as her daughter mused to herself, muttering the name again and again, repeating it and savoring the sound of the name.

"He was born in the year of the rat," said the grandmother at last. "In China, the rat is respected and considered a courageous person. It is deemed an honor to be born in the year of the rat, and it is considered a privilege to be associated with one. Rats know exactly how to find solutions and can take care of themselves and others. They use their instinctive sense of observation to help others in times of need."

Frank's grandmother took a deep breath, pausing her rant about the rat and what it meant to be one. She smiled. "Yes. I think the name of _Frank_ fits. Frankly, he will have to be more of a rat than anyone else; he will have bigger problems to solve in life."


	2. Ox

**I have no idea how to make dumplings, so please don't judge me. Second drabble, word count: 1035. To AMistyStar, who asked about the forum, the link is on my profile under Homes, letter 'H.'**

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Ox:

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Frank, in the eyes of his ever-critical grandmother, did not turn out to be like a rat at all–in a physical sense. He grew up to be a boy with wide shoulders and a face still not free of baby fat, even at age thirteen, more or less like an ox. But whether or not the ox had any brains or common sense remained a mystery unsolved to her.

"Fai," scolded the aging woman. "Come here and help me with the dumplings. It's the Chinese New Year–the year of the ox, to be precise–and we need to honor our traditions."

The stern grandmother stood between the doorway of the kitchen and the living room, looking exasperatedly at her grandson as he sat on the living room couch pouring over another spelling bee guide or some other whatnot. He must've been engrossed in the thin packet, not even looking up when his grandmother called.

"_Fai,"_ she called again, louder this time.

Frank's head snapped up, quickly putting the guide away.

"Yes, grandmother?" he asked, standing up.

At least he still had his manners if not his ears.

"Come and help me with the dumplings. I want to get them into the pot as soon as possible."

Frank nodded, following his grandmother into the kitchen unwillingly with a sour face.

"First," instructed Frank's grandmother. "You roll the dough out like this." Using her long fingers, she took up a small lump of dough from a bowl on the kitchen counter. Using just the palm of her hand, Grandmother Zhang flattened the dough to the cutting board resting nearby before whipping out a rolling pin.

Frank tried to look interested. "Grandmother, I don't want to celebrate the Chinese New Year. I'm not Chinese."

She didn't pay any attention to him. "Make sure the dough doesn't get too thin or it will break. Watch, Fai, you have to do this soon enough."

Frank sighed as he watched his grandmother pull out a knife and cut a square into the dough. Two inches by two inches, she had instructed him. Otherwise, the dough wouldn't be big enough.

"And now," she continued, picking up a pair of chopsticks lying nearby. Plucking a bit of grounded chicken from yet another bowl, she turned to Frank, a square piece of dough resting in her palm. "You set the piece of chicken down like this."

Using her chopsticks, Grandmother Zhang patted the ground chicken until it was a rectangular pack of meat and spice directly in the middle of the dough. Frank watched with mock fascination as his grandmother preformed the process. He knew how to make dumplings…he just didn't want to do it.

"You fold the dough in half, and you make sure the meat doesn't spill out from the sides. Pay attention, Fai! I'm in no mood to lecture you twice." Frank wanted to protest that she was never in the mood to explain things twice to him, but he kept his mouth shut.

"Finally, you fold the edges over, put a little water on the side, and stick the two sides together."

Grandmother straightened up, holding up a lumpy looking dumpling with dimpled sides. Frank wrinkled his nose, making his grandmother sigh.

"Come on, Fai. Get working; we don't have all day."

Reluctantly, Frank washed his hands under the cold water running from the dragon-headed facet before starting to work on his first dumpling. His hands were huge, and his fingers were wide, constantly ripping the thin dough and making it uneven, some areas thinner than the other. His grandmother watched him with disapproval.

Finally, after at least five minutes of work, Frank held a lumpy, deformed dumpling. Flour covered most of his face, but he grinned more like a child than a thirteen year old. The happy expression painted on his face quickly slipped off as he realized chicken was leaking slowly from a rip in the dumpling dough.

Frank groaned with frustration.

His grandmother sighed in exasperation. "Fai, be more careful when you're handling the dough, will you? We can't have any leaks when we put them into the pot to boil. It would spoil the whole batch, and we might as well be making chicken soup instead."

"I'm trying, grandmother," he mumbled miserably, picking up a new piece of dough and starting all over.

Grandmother Zhang gave him a small tut before turning back to her work, repeating the process Frank was attempting only her dumplings were just the right size, and they had no holes in the sides.

Frank screwed his face into an expression of great concentration as he rolled the dough, carefully cutting out a square just in the center, measuring the length and width with his pinky for accuracy. His grandmother gave him another look, clearly telling him that he needed more practice.

Minutes later, Frank triumphantly held up a dumpling, still lumpy, but at least it had no holes or chicken peeking out from under the thin layer of dough.

"The dough is too thick, Fai," snapped his grandmother, itching to give him a whack upside his head. "You can't even see the chicken. You should at least be able to see parts of the meat when you finish. We aren't boiling rock cakes or pies."

Frank groaned again.

When Grandmother Zhang boiled the dumplings in a steaming pot full of hot water, bubbles rose to the surface of the liquid, popping and dancing, mirroring Frank's excitement as he waited for his dumplings…well, _dumpling_ to be precise. In the time he and his grandmother spent making dumplings, Frank Zhang had successfully made one dumpling. One special and incredibly lumpy dumpling, which looked like the ugly duckling next to graceful swans compared to his grandmother's.

But when grandmother gave him his dumpling to eat, it still tasted incredible and delicious.


	3. Tiger

**Thank you all for the lovely reviews and the feedback. If there is anything wrong with my history on the Chinese zodiacs, please do not hesitate to point them out. Third drabble, word count: 973.**

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Tiger:

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A young Frank Zhang, three years of age, sat on the floor beside his mother, fiddling with her rimless glasses. He knew he had to be careful when handling them; they were easily broken, and Frank had no intention of upsetting his mother, who sat on a white leather couch, ruffling her son's bristly hair while he played.

"Mommy?" asked Frank, putting the glasses down long enough to ask her the nagging question on his mind.

"Yes, Frank?" his mother replied, lifting him onto her lap.

"Where is grandmother?"

Emily Zhang smiled at her child. "She's shopping for fireworks."

Little Frank wrinkled his nose with confusion. "Fireworks?" he inquired.

"Yes, sweetie, fireworks. You can light one on fire, and it will shoot up to the sky and make pretty colors." Emily made an exaggerated motion with her arms mimicking the patterns a firework might've created. "Big pretty colors."

Frank nodded, grinning through his crooked teeth before clambering down from his mother's lap and onto the floor again.

"Do you know why she's buying us fireworks, Frank?" asked Emily, poking her son in the stomach.

Frank giggled. "Nope."

"It's the Chinese New Year, honey. Every year, we celebrate a holiday called the Chinese New Year. Every New Year is named after an animal."

"What is the animal this year?" asked Frank, his meaty little hands fumbling with the rimless glasses.

"Sweetheart, it's the Year of the Tiger."

"Isn't that scary?"

"The Tiger is an honest animal, Frank. It looks scary, but people praise it for its honesty and loyalty. The tiger can make tough choices when it needs to, but it always does the right thing. Do you want to hear a story about one of his choices?"

Frank nodded eagerly as he set the glasses down.

"There were many animals once," Emily began. Her eyes grew misty as she recalled the first time she heard the story. "Each one wanted to be the name of a certain year, so they had a race. The first twelve animals got to be the winners, and the Chinese New Years were going to be named after them."

Frank echoed his mother, "A race."

Emily smiled before continuing. "After the race was finished and the twelve winners were announced, something else happened. There were evil demons who appeared from the Underworld, spirits and ghosts who wanted to hurt the people living in China."

Frank gasped. "But why?"

"They were evil, sweetie. There were evil demons…but you don't have to be afraid now; they're all gone."

Frank nodded, his fear diminishing.

"The rat and the ox defeated the first two demons already, but they died in the process. Then, the third year after the race, a terrible witch came to town. She made everyone sick, and she poisoned the crops. Because it was his year of honor, the tiger was the strongest at the time."

"So he killed her, right?" asked Frank in a tiny voice, frightened of the evil witch.

"Of course he did! But not through violence… That's the lesson here; you can stop problems and make friends without fighting. The tiger didn't want to fight the witch; he was a kind animal. Instead, the tiger went to the witch's cave and tried to make a deal. He would not kill her, but she had to leave people of China alone."

"And the witch said yes? Is that what happened?"

Emily smiled sadly. "Not quite. The witch told the tiger that if he would sacrifice himself for the good of the people, she would never dare to harm any human again, especially not people living in China. The tiger was a kind animal, and after long hours of thinking, he agreed."

Frank's hands balled into tiny, meaty fists. "So the witch got away?"

"No, honey. You haven't heard the entire story yet. The tiger let the witch kill her on a cliff, where no one else could go to stop them. But as the witch killed the tiger, the mountain took pity on him and his death. The rock cliff underneath shook and collapsed, burying her under the stone. She is under a mountain now, and she will never return. The tiger made the right choice, and his people were safe."

"That's it?" Frank asked, incredulous. "No happy ever after?"

Emily thought about it for a while. "You can say that there was a happy ever after. The people of China were saved, after all."

"But the tiger died," protested the toddler.

"It died for a noble cause," answered Emily, tickling her son. "And that's important. Sometimes, a sacrifice is needed for true success."

Frank looked at his mother. "But it isn't fair that the tiger was good, and he died. The witch should've died, not him."

"He made his own decision, remember? And if he didn't, the witch would still be controlling us right now. That's why the tiger is honest and loyal. Everyone wants to grow up like him."

It took Frank a while to process that, but when he understood, his eyes brightened. "You have to give some things up for a happy ending, right?" he asked.

"Yes, dear. That's the life lesson of the story." Emily smiled sadly, as if she knew that Frank had to face a decision like that in the future.

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**I heard that story about the tiger from this cartoon our social studies teacher showed us when studying the zodiacs. I'm not sure if it's accurate though.**


	4. Rabbit

**Thank you all for putting up with my terrible writing. Word count for this chapter: 1,017. Excuse the errors, I had little time to check over this.  
**

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Rabbit:

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A weary-looking Frank Zhang sat at a lonely table in the New Rome public library, examining pieces of paper, some stained with age, others recent newspaper clippings. He reached across the wooden surface of the table for a file of papers. Groaning, he shuffled through the thick stack of reports. Although the text was written entirely in Latin, Frank still found it a pain in the _podex_ reading through them.

Roman history.

Who cared about that sort of stuff anyways? Frank certainly didn't.

Without realizing it, Frank's fingers found a newspaper clipping with the headline: _Camp resident and earthquake somehow related?_ To the side, the article showed a picture of a young man with a sharp face and sharp features, his head bald and obviously Chinese.

Shaking his head, Frank crumpled the article up before tossing it into a nearby trash bin. He didn't want anyone else to read the false information again, enough people already knew too much for their own good.

His mind drifting off to the topic of his great-grandfathers, Frank suddenly remembered what his grandmother once told him.

"_Fai…come here."_

_A younger version of Frank, no more than a toddler, wriggled from under his bed, where he had been reading picture books in peace. Slowly standing up, with the gait of a lumbering ox, Frank brushed himself off before reporting dutifully to his grandmother._

_He found her in a rather small closet-like room with little light, the dim glow coming off of two candles. A table sat at the back of the closet, pictures covering the surface in neat rows. Frank didn't recognize anyone in the wooden frames; they all seemed strange and foreign. A pot of ashes rested in front of the pictures, and statues of Chinese deities sat in a line behind._

"_Fai," instructed Grandmother. "Come here and take this."_

_She handed him a stick, looking brownish in the dim glow of the two candles. The stick felt like powder under Frank's fingertips, and the smell of smoke reached his nose._

"_We light these sticks–_xiang_ in Chinese–in honor of our ancestors who passed away, Fai," Grandmother lectured. "This year is the Year of the Rabbit, and you're old enough to participate in this. Hold it up to the candle and light it."_

_When Frank finished lighting the _xiang,_ Grandmother made him place it upright on the pot, right next to hers. The _xiang_ smelled relatively good, like a strange mixture of jasmine and something else Frank couldn't identify._

"_Kneel, Fai," commanded Grandmother. "Kneel."_

_There were two cushions in front of the table, covered with a red material; something Frank did not see when he first entered. Feeling that this was rather silly, Frank kneeled on one of the cushions._

"_Now bow down. Bow down nice and low, with your head bent."_

_Frank did what his grandmother commanded, but he noticed Grandmother did not bow or kneel. His voice a little less than a whisper, Frank asked her about why she didn't bow._

_Grandmother clucked her tongue with impatience, making Frank cringe. "My back is old with age, Fai, use your head. If I bend over, my spine would crack. Have some consideration for a poor old lady, Fai."_

_After watching the _xiang_ burn for a while, Frank turned to face his Grandmother, asking for her permission to leave. As if she already knew what he was going to say, the old woman simply nodded before Frank opened his mouth._

_The light was dim, and Frank wasn't sure of what he saw, but he thought that his eye caught a tiny tear rolling down Grandmother's cheek._

And now, twelve years later and after the War of the Giants, the memory came back to him.

Standing up and upsetting a stack of papers, Frank hurried to the trash bin where he had tossed the old article earlier. After a moment's hesitation, he fished it out of the bin, making a face as he pocketed it.

Five minutes later, he found himself walking into an old antique shop on the streets of New Rome, browsing hurriedly through a row of teacups and perfumes. Snow fell in thick clumps of fluffy white material outside, and the road was covered with mush. But Frank's mind was not set on snow that evening. At the corner of the shop, he found what he was looking for.

Back at his bunk, Frank sat down and unwrapped a package of _xiang._ Holding it up to an oil lamp hanging on the wall, Frank lit the tip on fire. Taking the smoking stick between his teeth, the boy dug around in his own dresser, bringing out an old photograph of Grandmother. Fishing the picture of Sun Lun out of his pocket again, Frank set both on his dresser, leaning them up against the wall.

He didn't feel like kneeling on the cold hard floor without a cushion, so Frank held the _xiang_ in his hands, bowing respectfully to the pictures.

After a while, he spoke. It seemed silly talking to pictures, but Frank didn't mind.

"Hey…Grandmother? Wherever you are and if you can hear me, I hope you're proud. I was never the best, but I'll remember to honor you every year from now on. And Sun Lun? I want you to know people have forgiven you for what happened years ago."

Slowly, Frank took out one last picture from his pocket, the one he always carried around, placing it with the others.

His voice cracking, Frank whispered to the silence. "Mom? I'm here, and I'm not mad at you for leaving me anymore. I hope you have a good time in Elysium…really"

The _xiang_ was nothing but a tiny stub now, and Frank dropped it on the floor, watching it splutter and burn out…


	5. Dragon

**Thank you all for the feedback; I greatly appreciate it. Word count for this chapter: 1,089. Happy early Chinese New Year. On a side note, I might not finish the story on time, haha. I also had little time to look over this, so excuse the errors.  
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Dragon:

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Frank's mother was fond of dragons. They were strong and powerful, she had once explained, poking Frank in the stomach. They were good creatures that always did the right thing, and they created rain and snow, creating seasons and making the world the way it was. Some said they saved little children in times of crisis.

"They would save you if you were in trouble," she explained.

"But I'm not a little kid," protested Frank, squirming in his mother's arms and staring at her defiantly. "I'm five years old, mom! When I get older, I will become a dragon, just like the others."

"That's a good dream, dear," Emily responded.

Frank nodded back eagerly, his spirit rising with his mother's praise.

"Say, my little dragon," said Emily. "Would you mind fetching the mail for me?"

The little boy nodded eagerly, scrambling to obey. Bringing in the mail was something he enjoyed, and it was one of the only chores he could carry out with efficiency. Doing chores and helping his family around the house was something Frank loved; it made him feel like a big kid, not some small toddler. He wanted to grow up soon, and he wanted to make his grandmother proud of what he was capable of once he was older.

The mail that day consisted red, heavy packets of papers and envelopes. Frank didn't know why everyone suddenly started to wrap everything in red paper, but he carried the stack to his mother nonetheless.

"Mom, I got the mail for you," he said proudly after returning to where his mother sat on the couch, flipping absentmindedly through a magazine.

"Thank you, sweetheart," she replied.

Frank smiled widely, climbing back onto the couch beside his mother and watching her as she flipped through the mail. He expected her to be confused by all the red envelopes as well, but instead, she shook her head and laughed as her fingers touched the wrapping.

As his mother examined the addresses on the red envelopes, Frank realized the packages were not different from the usual stack of mail just by color. They had a fancy script written on their sides, scribbly lines Frank could not read.

"What are those red envelopes for, Mom?" he asked.

His mother laughed. "You'll see, Frank. You must be patient and wait until we eat dinner before we open these."

Frank fidgeted in his seat, squirming and trying to be patient. Patience did not come easily for the little boy, and he had to receive constant reminders about waiting. But reminding himself that growing up meant you had to be patient, Frank stopped fidgeting and tried to stay still, indulging himself in a magazine he could not understand.

When dinner came, Frank was the first to sit in his seat while his Grandmother spooned hot rice into three separate bowls for the family. When at last grain of rice disappeared down Frank's throat, he obediently took the bowl to the kitchen sink. His grandmother nodded her approval.

"The boy is learning his manners."

Emily chuckled. "Mother, he is only doing this today because he wants to open the _hong bao._"

Grandmother Zhang shook her head, and Frank flushed with color.

"I'll eat everything and take the bowl to the sink every day from now on!" he protested. "I'm a big kid, and I can do it."

Emily smiled before ruffling her son's hair.

"Here," she replied, handing out a stack of the red envelopes to Frank. "You've been waiting for this for long enough."

Excitedly, Frank ripped open the wrappings.

"Careful, now, Frank," his Grandmother snapped. "You don't want to rip what's inside."

Frank nodded apologetically before continuing with much more care; peeling the seal off slowly and making sure he didn't rip whatever lay on the inside. After the first red envelope was opened, Frank reached a tiny hand inside and brought out…a fistful of pink paper.

The little boy was flustered as he examined the papers. There were faces on them, faces of Chinese men like what Grandmother described in her stories with numbers in the corners, all saying _100._ Frank couldn't read the scribbly writing on the sides; perhaps they were some code or secret message Grandmother wanted him to solve. It sounded like the sort of thing she would do.

"What is this?" he asked his family, holding the pink papers up.

Grandmother gave him a tut before grabbing the papers up and putting them back into the red envelope.

"That is money, _Fai,_" she told him. "Money for you."

"But that's not money!" Frank argued, confusing painted on his five-year-old face. "Money is green, not pink."

"That is Chinese money, and if you haven't interrupted, I would've told you that as well. It is a tradition for Chinese people to send–"

Frank groaned, feeling a lecture coming. Grandmother gave him a look, but the little boy didn't notice. His mother spoke about the red envelopes as if they were something special, and Frank had believed it. He expected a toy or something more suitable for someone his age rather than grown-ups. Money though? Frank had a piggy bank where he tried to keep his coins–his _Canadian_ coins, but he had no place for the new Chinese currency he received.

"Listen to your grandmother, Frank," his mother told him.

Grandmother continued with a huff. "As I was saying, on the Chinese New Year, it is a tradition for family members to send their children money, usually a thousand dollars, all wrapped up in red paper. It's considered a blessing and wishing someone young good luck. These red envelopes are called _hong bao._"

A thousand dollars?

"How many envelopes are there?" asked Frank curiously. "And do all of them have a thousand dollars in them?"

"There are at least ten here, from my estimation. And yes, _Fai_, they all have a thousand dollars."

"Well," Frank said, examining the currency with renewed interest. "I think I'm going to be needing a new piggy bank."

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**Happy birthday to Bianca. I hope you enjoyed reading your present!**


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